


The Strands Between Us

by Lady_Therion



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Nessian - Freeform, Post-ACOWAR, post-bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 05:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11457237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Therion/pseuds/Lady_Therion
Summary: Cassian loves it when Nesta plays with his hair.





	The Strands Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the fuck out of these two stubborn, headstrong idiots and I hope to hell that they get their own standalone novel where they do nothing but have lots of sex for like seven thousand pages. Until then, here’s some smut.

His mate did a lot of things that drove him wild—things so lovely and wicked and _sinful_ that just thinking about them whipped him up into a frenzy. But nothing brought him to his knees quicker than when he was at home by her side, at their hearth, her clever fingers running through his hair. 

It was a near thoughtless gesture, something anyone would do for their mate. But Nesta was not just anyone. No, Nesta was a _goddess_ of storms and steel made flesh. She would bend for nothing and no one, not even his High Lord.

But for him, she would. For him alone, she would lay down her walls and let him see her for what she truly was.

And Cassian would never, ever take that privilege lightly. 

Like tonight when he sat at the foot of her chair, his back to her as he gazed into the crackling fire before them. He tucked in his wings, leaned his neck to the side, and let her sink into his locks. Stroking him. Petting him. Playing with him.

He liked it best when she wove his hair into little braids. Just one or two. Nothing fancy. Nothing his soldiers would remark on (if they valued their lives, that is). Oh, his brothers and Mor would give him endless shit for it, but Cassian didn’t care.

Because every little braid was a token; a token of what Nesta meant to him, of what he meant to her. Of the vulnerability that lay between them, and of the precious time they now had together. How could any crown, or jewel, or fancy sword ever measure up to that?

“You’re practically purring,” she said. And yes, there was an embarrassingly loud rumble coming from deep within his chest. Cassian couldn’t help it though. How could he? When his mate was so close to him and _touching_ him this way…

She brushed a few errant strands from his face as he turned to her, his head in her lap. Something must have been stirring in his eyes because the next thing she said was, “Is something wrong?”

He shook his head, sending a sweet and reassuring caress through the bond they shared. She smiled at him. It was a tiny smile, like dawn breaking over a frozen horizon. But because it was all for him, it was practically blinding.

“Make me another one,” he said, reaching down to lift the hem of her dress, relishing her little shiver as his rough and calloused hands glided from her ankles to the backs of her calves.

“Another what?” she breathed as he went higher, rustling up her skirts as he did so.

He paused to tug at one of his braids. “One of these.”

She arched a perfect brow. “Don’t the others tease you about them?”

“Mother damn the others.” Then he swooped in to press his lips to the inside of her right knee. Then the left. She began squirming beneath him, her hips coaxing him even higher to his most favorite place in the world. “Make me another one and I’ll give you a kiss.”

“Oh?” she said, a deep blush spreading from her neck to her bosom. “Where?”

“Do it and I’ll show you.”

She snorted, but he knew from the fire behind those haughty blue-grey eyes that she was taking him seriously. “Make it good.”

“Don’t I always?” He gave her his cockiest grin, one that would both incense and undo her.

A wry and doubtful “mmmm” was all she said. Then she reached up to undo her own braids and damn him if his cock didn’t just _leap_ at the sight of those golden-brown tresses falling around that devastating face.

“If you’re going to insist on being an arrogant brute,” she said, collecting various pins in her hand, “then I might as well rise to the challenge.”

He snickered, not really expecting anything less of her.

All at once, he could feel those deft fingers grazing across the skin of his scalp, parting his hair this way and that.

With a playful snarl, he threw her legs over his shoulders, his mouth watering at the scent of his mate’s heated arousal. Cauldron, she was already _so wet_. The hot slick of her dripping down between those sweet, pale thighs. He lapped it up, slow and steady like a cat licking cream until the tip of his tongue sought his target.

And fucking hell, she wasn’t wearing _anything_ underneath! Those golden-brown curls and that sweet, swollen flesh all his for the taking.

The most amazing thing was that she never once faltered. No, not _his_ wicked, wanton mate. He could still feel her above him, twisting and twirling his hair into sections, those little pins of hers sliding in place.

He did hear the slightest hitch in her breath when he licked a long stripe from her lovely opening to that precious little nub at her center. And he knew that he _had_ her when she began to grasp and paw at him, her hips rising and falling to meet his mouth.

“Ah, I…oh, _Cassian_...”

He moaned as he suckled at her, his precious mate, the love of his life—in this one and the next. It wouldn’t take long to bring her to the edge, and he would do it, over and over and over again, making her surge and soar by putting her pleasure above his...no matter if his balls turned blue by the end of the night.

“I could do this forever,” he growled before sliding a finger in her. Then two. Then three.

He raised his eyes to see her throw her head back, that glorious throat exposed and begging to be bruised with his teeth. But no, his mate had asked for a kiss and by the Mother’s tits, he would give her a _kiss_.

Minutes turned into hours before his mate’s voice turned hoarse from screaming, her little mewls and whimpers making the primal part of himself roar fiercely with male pride. That only _he_ could make his gorgeous, powerful mate become so undone.

When the last throes of her climax finally ebbed, he placed his fingers into his mouth, savoring the sweet, salty taste of her like it was the finest wine this side of the Sidra.

He nearly came when she took his hand and sucked on those fingers herself. Her red mouth swallowing them down to the knuckle and back. Her eyes were hazy and smoldering and he couldn’t staunch another helpless moan as she kissed his palm softly, reverently, as though he were her lord.

There was a dangerous gleam in her eye as she silently appraised her work. Cassian couldn’t tell what she had done, but it felt elaborate. Part of his hair had been pulled into a small knot at the back of his head, and he could feel more braids hanging at either side, thicker this time, like little ropes.

Nesta leaned down to lick his jaw, her tongue parting his lips. “Now, my love,” she whispered, and this time _he_ was the one shivering. “It’s my turn to kiss _you_ …”

***

No one said anything when he flew into the camps the next day, proudly strutting through the war-band battalions with his braided hair on full display—perfected only because Nesta insisted on fussing over him that morning.

After he gave her a second kiss of course.

Mor gaped. Azriel remained wisely silent.

“I hate to say it,” began Rhys. “But that actually looks pretty damn good on you.”

“I know,” said Cassian, grinning maniacally at a line of fresh recruits who nearly wet themselves at the sight of the famed Lord of Bloodshed.

Today was going to be a good day.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the author :)
> 
> Inspiration for Cassian's hairstyle can also be found here: http://lady-therion.tumblr.com/post/162840221287/i-have-to-ask-what-hair-style-where-you-imagining


End file.
